


a person whom one knows, likes, and trusts

by Miracule



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Science Bros, Unrequited Love, tryin hard to keep it together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 06:25:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miracule/pseuds/Miracule
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newton drops in for a visit, and Hermann finds that things aren't exactly how they used to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There was a knock at the door, but it was so quiet that Hermann wasn’t quite sure if he’d heard it.  So he sat for a moment, listening, silence booming in his eardrums.  It had to be.  He’d been expecting the visit, so he checked his watch—nine thirty—and went into the hallway to open the door.    

“Newton!”

“Hey, man…hey!”  Newt hesitated, so it was Hermann who initiated a quick embrace.  Goodness, the man felt thin.   

“Wonderful to see you!”  He took a step back.  “Come in, come in!”    

“Yeah!  I mean, you’re looking great.  Rested…and all that.”  Newt paused, his coat halfway down to his elbows.  He looked around as if he hadn’t a clue what to do; as if he’d wandered into a stranger’s flat by mistake.

“Here, I’ll take that…”

“Oh, yeah, man, thanks.”

Newt took off his glasses—the same model he’d always worn—and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.  Even Hermann could see, in the gathering darkness, that a good deal of sweat had formed on his brow. 

“Anything to drink?  Tea, maybe.  It’s a bit nippy outside, isn’t it?”

“Oh—no thanks, I’m all right.”

“Oh, no—whiskey, perhaps?  I’ve got a bottle of Glenlivet from my mother…”

 “Ah,” Newt smiled wanly, and Hermann wagged a finger at him. 

“I’ll get you a dram.” 

“Not too much.  That’s, uh, that’s very kind of you.” 

Hermann could practically feel the discomfort flowing off Newton in waves.  As he bent to get the whiskey out of the cupboard, he heard Newt sitting down—achingly slowly, and undoubtedly with great care.  Hermann was more than a bit taken back by this newfound affinity for caution—his most vivid memories featured his colleague in a hyperactive blur, shooting across the floor in an office chair, singing at the top of his lungs. 

He poured a little more for Newton than for himself and placed the glasses on the table.  “There you are.  Savor it, remember.  It’s not Jack Daniels.” 

“So you’ve been good?” Newt asked, sticking his nose into the glass.  He took a good sniff, and another, before he put it to his lips. 

“Yes, rather well, I think…considering.”

“ _Considering_.” 

Hermann nodded slowly.  “Yes, I think so.  The world’s been a bit shambolic, hasn’t it?  I can’t say it’s been easy.  Especially with Vanessa and the baby.  But, I’ve managed.”

“Word on the street is you’re being offered a position in the States.” 

Hermann swallowed.  “I have.  Harvard.  Vanessa’s there now with her mother, actually.”

Newton sat up, raised his eyebrows.  “You didn’t tell me we’d be so close to each other.”

 “I’m sorry, it slipped my mind,” Hermann offered with a wring of his hands.   “Well, how’ve you been, then?”

Newton took a small sip of his drink and licked his lips.  He was staring into his glass as if his eyes were locked in place in his skull.  As he waited for a reply, Hermann began to itch.  He wasn’t completely unobservant—he could see that Newton wasn’t entirely happy with him.   

“You know, I’m sorry…for not calling you sooner.  It was careless of me.”

“What?”  Newt relaxed a little.  “No, man, I…I didn’t call you either, to check up on you.  Well, I mean, I guess I did…recently, but…So much shit happened after Hong Kong, you know?  Everyone had to, you know, _rebuild_.”

It was as if someone were continually lowering the volume of his voice as he spoke. 

Hermann took a good swallow of his drink.  “Any new tattoos?  Or have you run out of bare skin?  I hear inking your groin is unpleasant…” 

 Newt laughed—a short, wheezing sound.  “No,” he shook his head, “I haven’t thought about getting a new one in a while, actually.”  His eyes flicked toward his right arm and he took a moment to examine it.  

“I might, though,” he mused.  “What should I get?”

“Oh, I don’t—I dunno.  Maybe, erm, not a kaiju?” 

“Maybe not.  Hey, what did you used to call me?”

“Pardon?”  

Newt gestured animatedly.  “You know! When you—you’d complain about me to everyone who’d listen.  I wanna hear you say it again.”

“A groupie,” Hermann scratched the back of his neck, “A Kaiju groupie.” 

Newton clapped once.  “Yeah! _Groupie_ ,” he laughed, rolling the R.   He cradled his drink in his hands, smiling thinly.  “Well, it’s all water under the bridge, man.  I was never that kind to you either.” 

“Newton,” Hermann started, quietly.  There was a good long silence in which Newt seemed to be preparing for a blow.  “Are you all right?”    

The younger man swallowed and cleared his throat.  “What do you—”

“I’m very, _very_ glad to see you, I am.  It’s only, you look a bit under the weather—is everything, you know, all right?  Is there something you need?” 

 “No…it’s really nothing much.”  

“You’re…you sure…?”

Newt shifted his body around in his chair, crossing his legs, his arms.  “I, uh…I can’t really, um, sleep much.  I get, um, headaches a lot.  Dizziness.  That kind of thing.  I, uh…have…un-restful sleep.” 

“What, like nightmares, that sort of thing?” 

“Yeah, I guess.  I mean, I guess that would make sense, the way I keep waking up.  Like getting interrupted, you know?  I feel like shit in the morning, most days.”   He paused to catch his breath, and Hermann waited for him to continue.  The room seemed to be contracting with each passing moment. 

Newt licked his lips again.  “I think it might be, um, what I did.  The drift.” 

“You think your symptoms might’ve been caused by the drift?”

“Yeah.  Maybe.  I wanted to ask if you,” he gestured weakly toward Hermann, “You know.” 

Hermann could feel his stomach turning.  He couldn’t truthfully say he knew exactly what Newton meant.  After the drift, for a week or two, he’d felt very odd--similar to what his colleague was describing.  But after that?  It had been some time since then, and he didn’t actively return to the experience. 

Sometimes, however, it would come back to him anyway—waves of emotion, feelings that didn’t belong to him.  Along with the fractured images from the kaiju’s brain, Newton’s curious past and turning, ruminating thoughts had mingled with his own in the most intimate ways.    

“No, I can’t say I’ve experienced what you have.  Not recently, anyway.  I’ve felt all right.  But you, you drifted with a kaiju for much longer than I did.”

He added, “You were in the middle of a seizure when I found you the first time.  I suppose that might have something to do with it.”

 “Might?”  Newt’s voice was strained. 

Hermann raised a hand to placate him.   “I’m not sure.  Well...I mean, have you considered that it might be a post-traumatic stress issue?”

“What?”  Newton jerked back as if stung by the words.  “No—it’s not that.”  He exhaled sharply and turned to glance out the window, resting his elbows on his bouncing knees.   Some things hadn’t changed—he was a bundle of overactive nerves, all firing at once.

 “It wouldn’t be anything to be ashamed of.  If you did.” 

“I know that,” Newt snapped.  He quickly bridled himself in and repeated, quietly—“I know that.  But you’re saying you haven’t felt _anything_ like this.  No insomnia, no depression, no…nothing.”   

Hermann was struck by how subdued his friend’s voice had become, and how quickly the tension had vanished from his shoulders.  “I’ll pour you a bit more,” he said, knowing full well that it was the coward’s way out.  

Newton was silent as the Glenlivet came out of its cabinet, and every noise was painfully amplified.      

 “You’re lucky, you know, I try to save this for impressing the in-laws.” 

That earned him a forced smile.   Well, fine—perhaps it was the best he deserved. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omfg i am SO sorry for how long this is, but it didn't make sense to break it up any other way. sorry, kiddos.

Newton finished off the whiskey in a few minutes.    

He hadn’t said another word about his concerns, and Hermann hadn’t pushed the subject.  After all, what could he say that wouldn’t pour fuel on the fire?  He decided to wait, to bide his time, hoping that Newt might be the one to broach the subject once more. 

It didn’t happen. 

So they talked about their families, their lost property, their circuits and their research. 

“How’s Clara?” Newt leaned his head back and closed his eyes. 

“Oh, she’s fine.  Healthy, happy.  What more can you ask for?”

“That she won’t turn out as anal as you are?”  

 “Oh, yes, quite.  Well, what about you, then, Geiszler?  Any plans of your own?”

 “What, for kids?  Nah.  Maybe I’ll adopt.  Maybe one day.”

 His words were slurring ever so slightly, but it was enough for Hermann to take notice. 

 “Do you, erm, have a long way back, do you?”

 He shrugged and straightened up.  “Trying to get rid of me?”

“Of course not,” Hermann sighed, and it was the truth.  “But you seem tired.” 

“No, not really.  It’s a bit of a drive to the hotel, though.  Forty minutes or so.”

“You’ll be all right to get there, then?”

Newton sat back heavily in his chair.  “Oh.  Well, I…” He looked down at his hands, squinting, holding them level in front of him.  “Mm.  I haven’t eaten today.  Well, I had a piece of toast for breakfast, actually.  But um,” he rambled, “You know, whiskey’ll do it.” 

_Oh, good_.  “No need to hurry.  Can I get you something to eat, though?  Toast, crackers, I can heat up a bit of pasta from lunch…” 

“No, no, I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine.” 

“For God’s sake, you just said you haven’t eaten all _day._ I’d be happy to, please.”

 “No, really, I don’t feel that great anyway.”

“Of course you don’t feel great; you haven’t fucking eaten all day.” 

Newt cringed a little.  He was gazing off into nothing, glassy-eyed and distant, bouncing his knees.   He put a hand to his temple and for a moment Hermann was worried he might lash out.   

“All right, all right,” he finally relented.  “Thanks.   A slice of toast sounds awesome.  White or grain or what?” 

“I don’t know.”   Hermann stood, joints cracking, and hobbled into the kitchen.  “Whole wheat, apparently.”

“Okay.  Thanks—thank you.” 

As Hermann struggled to pull the bread from its wrapper, Newton’s voice floated in around the corner, “Do you mind if I lie down on the couch for a minute?”  

“Not at all. Just don’t put your shoes on it.”

He put the kettle on as well, trying to spend as much time as possible collecting his thoughts.   All he managed to decide was that he wasn’t sure how to proceed.  But after the water boiled he had no choice but to go in and ask whether he should bring out the butter or the apricot preserves. 

But Newton was dead to the world, lying curled with his legs propped up on the arm of the couch, safely removed from the upholstery.  His breathing was rhythmic and slow despite being shallow—even in unconsciousness he remained ill at ease. 

“All right,” Hermann said under his breath.  “You rest.” 

He returned to the kitchen and poured himself a full cup of tea. 

A good hour passed without Newton stirring in the slightest.  Hermann sat slumped in a chair, frowning at his book. He adjusted his glasses, turned the pages, listened to the low hum of life outside the flat. 

It was only when Newton began shivering did Hermann decide to pull him out of his sleep.  “Ah…”  He remained frozen to his seat, even as he willed himself to move.  “ _Newton_.”   The man awoke with a start.

Hermann watched as Newt—presently a trembling, sweating mess—struggled to sit up.  Having tossed his book to the coffee table, Hermann hobbled toward the couch with both hands outstretched, repeating a mantra of assurance for the two of them—“It’s all right, it’s all right, here.”

He was shaking so violently that Hermann grabbed his hand and squeezed.

“W-What—what, did I do something?” he asked, staring into Hermann’s face with wide fever-bright eyes.  

Hermann opened his mouth and found that he could hardly get the words out.  “You, erm.  No, n-not exactly.  Not exactly.” 

Newton looked down at himself; down at his friend’s fingers wrapped firmly around his own.  He didn’t pull away but he frowned and screwed his eyes shut, dropping his chin to his chest.  

“Oh, shit.  Sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s fine.  You haven’t done anything wrong; don’t apologize.” 

“No, but this happens _every time_ , man.”

He pulled his hands back toward his chest, refusing to meet Hermann’s gaze at all.

“Look…”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s…I told you.  It’s all right.  Just—calm down a bit.  Breathe.” 

“I’m,” he took a long, trembling breath, “Sorry.” 

“So you were dreaming, then?” 

Newt gave him a look.  “I don’t know.  It’s really just, uh, images, you know?  Like, flashbacks, I guess.”  He had a bit of strength back in his voice, but his skin was pallid.

“I really don’t feel well,” he admitted.  

“Oh.  Oh…” Hermann’s knees cracked as he stood.  “The bathroom’s down that way.  Do you want me to help you?” 

Newt swallowed.  “I’ll just…I’m sorry,” he repeated.  He tried to stand and almost keeled over.  Hermann managed to catch him before he did, but the jarring movement proved to be too much for Newton, who curled in on himself and gagged.   He began wheezing and Hermann barely had time to scramble into the kitchen and fetch the bin.   

Eventually the muted noises of Newton being sick gave way to a sob or two.   

“I just…I c-can’t…I can’t do this.”

“It’s all right.” 

“Yeah?” he breathed. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Hermann placed a palm against Newt’s forehead and winced at the heat.  

After some time had gone by, with a bit of coaxing and the promise of a toothbrush and a bath towel, Hermann managed to get him into the bathroom. 

When Newton emerged some minutes later, he was topless, clutching his crumpled shirt in front of his chest.  For a moment Hermann found himself staring at the colors painted across Newt’s skin—he always forgot how vibrant they were.

“Can I, um, borrow a shirt from you?  It’s just that mine got really, like, damp and I just…it’s cold…” 

“Of course!  Yes, of course…” Hermann felt a twinge in his gut and averted his eyes.  He led Newt down the hallway but the footsteps stopped when they reached the bedroom. 

“Wow,” Newt said from the doorway.  His voice was rough so he tried clearing his throat.  “This is…nice." 

Hermann smiled.    

“What did you expect?  Naked women on the wall?  Sports paraphernalia?” 

“Ah, I don’t know,” Newt backtracked, speaking quickly.  “I didn’t mean anything.” 

“I was joking.”   Hermann pulled his softest undershirt from the drawer and tossed it across the room.  “Look, do you need anything else?  A pair of warm-up pants, maybe?  I don’t want you to be uncomfortable—you could bring them all back before you leave.” 

“Okay.  And, uh, thank you.  For the toothbrush.” 

“It’s not a problem.  Come on, when you’re done, come back and drink some water.  Actually, I’ve got some ginger ale as well…” 

Newt tugged the shirt over his head and pulled gently at the fabric.

 Hermann paused on his way out.  “Are you all right?”

Newton shrugged, opened his mouth to speak.  He stopped, looked downward. Finally, he grabbed Hermann and hugged him.

Hermann tensed up—he had never cared much for being touched, even as a child, and his colleague knew this.  But he wrapped his arms gingerly around Newt in return, because no other response seemed appropriate.

Newton pulled away with a strained laugh.  “I just wanna sleep, man, you know?”

Hermann pointed to the bed, but Newt shook his head. 

“You don’t have to sleep _in_ it, I can get you a blanket.  Just…just lie down, will you?  Drink some water, eat the toast, and lie down.”   

“I’ll take the couch.”

“Newton.”

“We could share the bed,” he said plainly.     

 “I don’t think Vanessa would like that very much.”   

“You sure you don’t mind me staying?" 

“No, I don’t mind.” 

“Look,” Newt held fast to a piece of Hermann’s sweater.   “I don’t want you to think I’m trying to put you in any kind of position.  I’m just…I trust you, and…”

“It’s fine,” Hermann tried to assure him.  “You’re my friend, and I want to help you.” 

Newton’s lips opened and closed.  “Friend, huh?”  And with that, he let go of Hermann’s sweater.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermann poured himself a shot’s worth of rum.  He looked at it, bit his lip. He’d been limiting his alcohol intake to beer in recent years.  But tonight, well, tonight was different, he told himself.

He took two—three tended to be his comfortable number, but two would get him drowsy—and went to bed. 

He slept on and off for an hour or two, and then he woke up with his hip aching and his stomach turning.  Immediately his thoughts returned to the man in the other room.  He hadn’t thought of much else, to be completely honest. 

He’d gone months trying not to think about what he’d been through in Hong Kong, but it was as if Newton were a puzzle piece that had finally slid into place and altered the entire picture.

He was right.   Hermann could feel it—he could feel what his friend was trying so desperately to communicate.  He could feel the remnants of the drift on the backburner, simmering away. 

His face was hot, and even as he struggled out from under the blanket, the sensation lingered. 

He sat up and grabbed his cane as the darkness pressed in around him.  He turned on the light and sat still for a moment.  He could still feel the heat prickling under his skin, so he stood with some difficulty and shuffled into the living room. 

He wasn’t surprised to see Newton propped up against the cushions; squinting tiredly at the book Hermann had left lying on the table.  He lowered it quickly. 

“Hey.” 

“Thirsty,” Hermann lied.  He went into the kitchen and came back with a glass of water.  He didn’t know what he’d been thinking, coming in here.

“My leg’s a bit stiff,” Newton told him. 

“Oh?  Well, erm, I’ve got some pain relievers, if you want it.” 

“Maybe, if it doesn’t go away.” 

Hermann lingered by the hallway, and Newton returned to the book.  “I can’t understand much,” he said. 

“You’re good at maths, but I’m better,” Hermann smiled.  “I’m going to head back.” 

“No, come on, come here,” Newt patted the couch. 

 Hermann indulged him, albeit hesitantly.  Newton exhaled slowly and snapped the book shut.  “I can feel it, you know.” 

“Excuse me?”

“Now that we’re close together.  Phantom pains…you being scared.  I know it’s not me.” 

“You can’t be serious.”

“It happens to the Jaeger pilots.”

“What we did wasn’t the same.  That can’t happen.”   

Even as he said it, Hermann could feel the heat rising in his face—anger, indignation.  He held Newton’s gaze and realized, with resignation, that he had no reason whatsoever to feel angry.  It was Newton who was angry.

 Hermann had no reason to feel anything close to arousal, either, but there it was, creeping up on him and making his heartbeat echo in his eardrums. 

“I should get back,” he repeated.  “Tomorrow—we’ll talk tomorrow.”  This was very new to him—sharing a bit of mutual attraction with his colleague.  He’d always known that Newton preferred men, but until recently he’d never imagined that Newton would consider _him_.  It was like something out of a terrible romance novel—“opposites attract” and all that. 

“No, man, wait—please.”  Newt grabbed his sleeve.  “Okay, look.  I’m not going to do anything, all right?”   His voice was strained and scared and it pinned Hermann to his seat. 

“I…I know that.”  

“Fuck, man, I’m not ready to lose you, too.”   All traces of anger had bled away, and a sort of nauseating guilt had taken its place.   

“Jesus, you’re not going to _lose_ me…”

Newt’s jaw tightened.  “You can feel it, can’t you?” 

Hermann nodded tiredly; he could.    

Newt leaned in closer, shifted his body toward the middle of the couch.  Hermann found himself shivering, and when Newton’s warm fingers brushed his hand, he realized that the blood had been draining from his extremities. 

“Newton,” he exhaled carefully, pulling his arms back in, “Listen…” 

The words died in his throat when Newton kissed him.  

Hermann froze, his hands pinned awkwardly against his chest.  Before he realized what had happened, it was over, and the air felt strangely cold against his lips.    

Newton pulled back, breathing fast, and Hermann was left floundering.  His first thought was that it wasn’t a bad kiss, and then— _oh, god_ —Newton had actually, in reality, kissed him.    

Newton’s head fell into his hands.  “Oh my god.  Oh, fuck.  _Fuck_.” 

“Look, no, it’s…” Hermann tried to touch Newt’s shoulder, but the man flinched back as if he were in pain.  “It’s fine.  Please.”    

“I kissed you.”  

Hermann swallowed.  “Yes.” 

“God,” Newt hugged himself, “Hermann, I’m sorry.” 

“Come on, don’t…”

“I’m really,” he trailed off, opened his eyes.  “I half-expected you to hit me.”

“God, why would I…why?”  Hermann could hardly believe what he was hearing. 

Newton shrugged weakly.  “I don’t know.” 

“I’m not going to hit you.”

 “Yeah.”

Hermann tried to soften his voice.  “You should try to sleep, Geiszler.  We can talk in the morning.”

“And say what?”

There was a pregnant pause.  “Whatever you want to.  What the weather’s like.  Massachusetts.”

“Massachusetts?” Newt repeated, hoarsely. 

“I hear it’s lovely during the fall.”

 

 

  

“I’ve decided I’m going to see someone,” Newton told him over coffee.  Hermann had just poured himself a cup, squinting into the light pouring in from the window. 

“That’s good,” he managed to reply.  “I think it’s for the best, you know.”

“When I get back to the States, I’ll do it.  Speaking of which, what about the job?” he pushed, clearly more interested in chatting than eating.

Hermann studied his friend carefully.  “I’ll probably take it.  It’s a good position.”

Newt nodded immediately.  “It’ll be great.  Plus, I’ll be able to drop in and bug the shit outta you, right?”  He laughed into his cup, eyes wrinkling at the corners.  “Like old times, man.” 

“It’ll be good to have a friend nearby.”  

Hermann watched Newt taking cautious bites of oatmeal, touching it with his tongue, as if he hadn’t seen real food for a week.  But there was a sort of easiness about Newton’s demeanor, a cheerfulness that certainly hadn’t existed last night.  Hermann could see that he was trying very hard to keep up that facade.

“I know it’s a bit late,” Hermann said slowly, glancing at the clock, “But what were you thinking of doing for dinner tonight?  There’s a café I’ve been meaning to try.  Rave reviews—what do you say?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowee, the final chapter. this fic was a bit of a bitch to write, and I'm not sure why. but i enjoyed it nonetheless, and i hope it gave you some brief entertainment as well!


End file.
